The Redwall Age
by Wrathofautumn
Summary: When a friend disappears out of sight, it's up to George, Matt, and Mark to discover Stephen's secret and find their friend. As they become involved in a centuries old conflict, their only hope lies with seeking out No One the Wanderer, an immortal mouse that few are able to find.


"The Redwall Age, Chapter One"

**Written by:** Nitrinoxus, Ryutheweredragon, Throne Zwei, Vulpix, Kitsukyo, and Wrathofautumn

**Edited by:** Nitrinoxus

**Formatted and Co-Edited by:** Wrathofautumn

_Time gnaws away all things_

_Buildings, mountains, even kings_

_But there is one old and clever_

_The trees of Mossflower, his name it sings._

_"No one lives forever!"_

_The ageless Wanderer, old as the sea_

_Old as the mountains. Nay! Older than He!_

_What is his name, he who will never_

_Die? Ask the river, and they shall tell thee_

_"No one lives forever!"_

~x~

This was going to be the best night ever.

Stephen spared no expense for tonight. Nothing was too good for his expected guests. The Wii's system was updated with the best hits for the virtual console, his best DVDs were out, and the router was working at full power today for once. He'd just ordered for Blackjack Pizza to come with several larges and a package of Buffalo-style wings (of course, no one but him would have those. They were too good for sharing). To top it all off, he had a six-pack of Australian ginger beer. Every time he took a swig of one, it had the taste of summer. With the middle of May on the horizon, he could use the reminder of sunshine, rainbows, video games and long days lounging in the pool.

His friends had been quite surprised to hear that he was inviting them over to his apartment after shutting out all contact in the last ten months. He made the excuse that it was all about school, but there was much more going on. Stephen had a secret that he'd been working on that entire time and intended to keep it that way. Now, however, he was beginning to get the signs of cabin fever. He yearned for company once more after ten months of privacy. They'd all soon know he held them all endearingly in his heart and not one of them would be the wiser.

Just then there was a knock on the door. With a bounce in his walk, he strutted over and swung the door open. "Hey there! Welcome to the party!"

"Hey, Steve", Timothy said to his friend, "You feeling better?"

"Sure looks like he is, eh?" George chuckled as he waved from behind Timothy.

Mark nodded, his shaggy mane of hair dropping down over his bespectacled face. "Hey, thanks for having us, man," he said, flipping the errant bang out of the way.

"Hey, I'm just glad you could all show up." Wrath realized someone was missing. "Hey didn't you guys say Matt was coming?"

"I- yeah, didn't he get here already?" Timothy wondered.

"I think I saw him...not sure."

"I thought he was with you guys."

"Maybe he's stuck in traffic...?" Mark shrugged.

Just then there was a knock on the door. It may have just been the pizza guy. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see that it was none other than Matt, still in military uniform. "Matt, dude! Hey how've you been?"

"Oh, you know. Military, mission. Stuff." Matt shrugged, and then waved over his shoulder. "Hey guys."

"Oh, hey! On leave or something?"

"Yeah, for now. I can't stay too long though."

Stephen wasn't surprised at this. He patted Matt's shoulder. "At least you made it. Come on. Have a ginger beer. Oh, hey, soda's on the counter guys."

"Thanks. I'm not much into beer."

"I'll pass - need to drive home, and I don't want to be buzzed. Got a Coke?"

"Make it two."

"Alcohol?" Matt said in shock. "You know I can't have that."

Stephen face palmed. "No, no you got it all wrong. Ginger Beer is an Australian soft drink. It's like root beer but with ginger, look."

Showing them the paper case holder, Matt nodded in comprehension. "Okay, that makes more sense. I'll have one then."

"Ditto."

"I'll still have a Coke. I've never gotten along well with ginger."

Stephen sighed. "There's a vending machine outside the apartment."

"I can wait, Steve. I'm not that thirsty...anyhow! Quite the party."

Timothy got a drink of Soda from the vending machine outside before coming back, "So... Exactly what have you been doing? You said something about School, but- something seemed off."

"Something like that." Wrath said despondently. He should've known to get something else besides ginger beer for people. So much for trying to expand people's horizons. He needed ice cream now. Looking at the fridge, he found that he'd already finished the case. He'd have to go to the store to get some more. Closing the fridge, he picked up his wallet and put it into his pocket. "Hey guys, I'm off to get some ice cream."

"Alright, Steve."

"See you in a few, dude."

"See you when you get back."

"Feel free to play on the Wii, watch a movie or stuff. Money for the pizza is on the table. Make sure that you pay him." Just as he left, he then stepped back in saying, "Oh, and no going into my room." With that he closed the apartment door, the automatic lock whirling in place.

With that, Timothy excused himself from the main room, looking for the bathroom in the apartment.

George waved as his friend left and shrugged. He wasn't much for the Wii, but he was more than willing to play a game or two. "Wonder why he doesn't want folks in his room."

"...He's hiding something, I think." Mark shrugged. "Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Now, where's that Wii?"

"You're, uh, about to step on it." Matt said pointing to the floor.

Mark froze. "...Oh. Kind of a bad place to leave that, I think."

"Yikes...yeah. So, who's up for Brawl? I'll kick your ass with Samus."

"Putting it next to the TV's a bad place for it?"

"On the floor, I mean. The drive'll get lint in it." Hitting the power button, he looked at George. "And that sounded like a challenge. Let's see what you're made of, G-man!"

"Hmm... Which one of these is the bathroom anyway?" Timothy wondered.

"I think it's the third door on the left!"

From the living room, Timothy worked his way out back to the hallway, with a vanity room to his right, two doors on either side. Assuming both of them were bedrooms, Timothy continued on until the end of the hallway, opening the door to the far right. What he'd opened to was a bedroom, possibly Stephen's. He was certain of it because there was a Palladium RIFTS player's handbook on his table. In their circle of friends, Stephen was the only one who showed enthusiasm about it. Timothy, on the other hand, thought as a tabletop RPG, it was half-assed with the writers only vaguely knowing what they were writing about. How were cats native to Australia, anyway?

He was about to close the door when he spotted something sitting next to his bed. It looked to be something covered with some kind of a sheet with a flowerpot on in. Timothy didn't know why, but somehow this element of the room did not seem to match with the general surroundings of nerd-dom and mess. From the fox motif of plushies, calendars, furry comics, piles of burned Mystery Science Theatre 3000 DVDs and the RIFTS book, what was something like that doing there?

Timothy wandered over to it and moved the flowerpot carefully, and then removed the sheet.

What had been underneath the sheets was a wooden box fastened with leather, stone, and bits of metal. There was a little door on the box bordered with a metal rim. No matter how much he pried, however, he could not get it to move. There were no obvious handles or knobs for twisting it open or any padlock. He could barely pry his fingers around the edges of the door without the risk of breaking his nails. It seemed to move on a hinge, which meant the box could be opened, but how?

Lifting it up on Stephen's desk, he took a breather for a moment. The safe box was heavy! What was he carrying in there that made it so hard to move? Hoping that it wouldn't break his desk, Timothy then noticed something on the top of this particular box. There were four sets of glazed wooden dials. Each stuck out the top at about halfway, with a small lever lined up neatly next to each gear. On the side of the box was a metal crank. He tried to budge the crank but it didn't move. What did the levers do...?

Timothy pondered for a moment. A puzzle box? That's the only thing this could be. He adjusted the dials on it a bit before trying the crank again. Still stuck. At least he tried to adjust the dials, but the dials were fixed tight in place. Then got the idea to pull the lever. Almost immediately the dials began to turn in a steady motion. Testing it with the other three dials, he found that the three levers all moved each dial adjacent to it. It looked as though this were a puzzle box.

This must have been what Steve had been working on this whole time. He didn't realize Stephen had this much knowledge in engineering. Still, though it'd take some time to solve it. He was sure that Stephen wouldn't mind at all. Even if he came back, there surely wouldn't be a freak-out. I mean, weren't puzzles made to be solved?

The pizza man came and went. Mark, Matt, and George paid him and sent him on his way, now in a deadly fight on Brawl. They called to Timothy but were distracted by a custom map Stephen had designed called "DEATH STAGE OF PAIN (DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!)". It was explosions, lasers, and rock and roll...the best things you could ask for in a fighting game.

Mark had racked up a serious amount of damage, and was hanging back from the fight's epicenter, launching volley upon volley of Aura Spheres from his Lucario avatar.

George was hanging on and retaliating with missile volleys that would put any action movie to shame. He wondered where Timothy had gone - unless he'd fallen in, no bathroom trip took this long, did it?

Timothy had his own distractions going on. While Stephen was still away, he'd managed to solve a good portion on the mechanics of the puzzle box. The levers were needed to turn the dials, but there were two major principles behind them. One had to pull the lever back to relock the dial and there was a delay in it setting place by about one click. Sometimes, however, the dial would stop moving altogether. One had to wind up the crank until it was tight enough so the dials could move again.

With these three mechanics, and going buy a carved out set of numbers found on his friend's desk, it was only a matter of mastering the controls of the puzzle box to unlocking it, hopefully. He was already getting the timing down.

Finally, after nearly an hour of trying, Timothy managed to get the number matched up. The box now easily opened, and Timothy wondered what was inside of it. Inside was a large, leather-bound book. It didn't seem to be a journal, nor was it any book Timothy recognized.

The book itself was molded with trees, flowers. The cover itself was an engaging struggle, a horde of armored, vicious rats on one end and a mixed variety of squirrels, moles, and hares on the other. In the center of all this, towering over everything, was a mouse in armor and a sword resting in his paws, looking down on the battling woodland creatures favorably as they prepared to defend what appeared to be a fortress on the edge.

Timothy opened the book, his curiosity overriding his common sense. There was a flash of light, a sickening lurch of wind and then suddenly everything went black for Timothy. Not even a thought remained from his mind as he disappeared from the room, the book falling against the ground with a loud thud.

Mark paused the match. "...Did you guys hear that 'thud'?"

"What was that sound? I heard something fall." George looked away from the screen when he heard the thud.

Matt shrugged. "It could've been from one of the other floors."

George shook his head. "Sounded too loud to be on another floor."

"Never hurts to check."

"Alright. Let's go...and let's see if we can find Timothy...he's been gone for a while."

The three worked their way through the apartment, checking each room on the way with no sign of Timothy. Finding the door to Steve's room ajar, they wandered in. Mark spotted the book lying in the middle of the floor; he picked it up and dropped it, producing the same 'thud' they'd heard. "That's the sound, no question. But where's Tim?"

"That's...a very good question. Place isn't big enough for him to slip by us...maybe he went out for another Coke or something when we were busy?"

"He was in here, though. This book didn't drop itself."

"That's true, but where could he have gone? It's not like he could just vanish into thin air, right?"

Matthew was staring at the book's cover. "...Wow! Did Steve design that?"

Mark noticed the opened safe box. "The dude must have a lot of free time."

"Wait a moment...cover kinds reminds me of something...Red...something...wait. Redwall! It reminds me of those books!" George snapped his fingers when he remembered. But it still didn't explain where their friend had vanished to.

Suddenly they could someone dialing in the lock code. A door opened open and the swishing of grocery bags. "Guys, I'm..." There was a sudden pause as the voice faded. The sound of groceries being dropped echoed as the very floor of the apartment seemed to echo with stampeding, desperate stomps. He stormed into the room looking wildly at the three of you, the opened safe box, the book, and back at the three of them. His face was pale, his expression expressing an unadulterated, festering livid rage.

"...Oh boy," Mark said, his voice small.

"We were looking for Timothy...don't suppose you ran into him on your way in?" George stammered for a moment, trying to find a reasonable explanation.

"You motherFUCKERS!" Grabbing Mark by his shirt, Stephen hurled him straight into the other bedroom from across the hall.

George's eyes widened in shock as he rushed over to try and restrain his friend from doing more harm. "What the hell? I know you said not to enter your room, but this is too much!"

Before Mark could have time to recover, Stephen was upon him and slammed him hard against the wall, the paint cracking as he impacted. "Do you realize what you've done?! What you've set in motion?!"

"Hey, take it down a few notches, man! I'm on your side, here!"

"Maybe if you stopped slamming him into the wall like a maniac, we'd be able to figure it out! What the HELL are you going on about?"

"You're all fucking idiots is what you are! What did I tell you about going into my room?! HUH?!" There was a sudden crack, causing Stephen to recoil. Matt was standing behind him with his army knife in hand. Mark instantly dropped against the wall as Stephen clutched at his head screaming.

"You all right?" Matt said, extending a hand.

"Holy shit, this is getting bad...I'm half tempted to call the cops because of this..."

"Look, Steve, we were just looking for Tim," Mark explained as he picked himself up. "We heard something fall in here, and the door was open; we just figured he'd wandered in here."

"And that's when you came in and attacked us after we looked for him."

"Don't you FUCKING lie to me!" Steve said, pointing an accusing finger at the three of them. "You've all seen the notes haven't you? You all know what lies in that book! You have to! Why else would you all start linking to it! Greedy sons of bitches! You have no idea what you've just started!"

"The book? It was on the floor when we came in."

"Linking? It's a book, not a computer! I haven't seen any notes since I took my classes!"

That was when He suddenly staggered backwards, collapsing against the corner. He continued mumbling something, but it looked as if the shock from the blow had finally caught up to him.

"Let's get him onto the bed...hopefully he'll explain what's going on when he comes to..." George looked at his friend with a mixture of shock and pity. He didn't want their friendship to end, but after that...he wasn't sure what was going on.

Timothy appeared in what looked like a lush farmland. Funny, there weren't any of those for miles from Steve's apartment...

Lush farmland was hardly the description one could put it. He seemed to be standing on a dirt beaten road, the dirt riddled with tracks from previous travelers. On both sides were fields of wheat, corn, flax and vegetables behind picket fences, protected by scarecrows. As he looked at the road sloped downward to what looked to be an old-style hamlet, with straw-mattered cottages, a well, and a bit more. This was nowhere anywhere close to where Steve's apartment had been. How did he get here? Where was he, too?

He then noticed a couple of lights coming towards his way. Maybe someone could explain to him what was going on. That was when he began to notice the glow around his hand. It was like some strange aura that outlined his hand; in fact, it outlined his entire body. What was this?

Timothy became a bit dizzy as his hand started to be covered in brown fur. His ears moved up to the top of his head and became pointy as his face pulled out into a muzzle.

Timothy realized that he was changing somehow and let out a yelp as he tripped over his feet, which had changed shape. Standing up shakily, a tail appeared behind him and his body started to shrink, soon his clothes swallowing him up. A Knife he carried with him changed shape to a broken sword, which fell down uselessly beside him as he fell into his clothes. Looking at the large, scary place the young wolf pup started to cry.

The broken sword now was engraved with a name - Timothy.

That was when the wagon cart finished its climb up the hill, driven by a horse. Pulling on the reins, a hooded figure looked down on the scene. "What's this, here? A baby? Out here in the middle of nowhere?"

The pup managed to look out of the overgrown clothes.

"I'll have a look. Stay on the cart, love." Stepping out from the side, another hooded figure, wrapped in green linen, held a lamplight down to have a closer look, a ropey tail dragging behind him. Almost immediately at the sight of it, he instantly jumped and ran back from the clothes. "Blimey! It's one of them vermin babes! Might be a trap for some bandits. Quick, dear! Let's ride out of here."

"Really? But it's only a little one." Holding up the lamp, she made some cooing noises to the babe.

The pup giggled.

Pulling her hood down, revealing a mouse farmer, she then made an endearing smile. "Oh, but come! He's adorable and all alone out here! Where have his parents gone?"

Pulling his own hood down, the male mouse then looked at as if she were insane. "Have you lost it, Midia? That's a wolf you're saying is cute. Wolves bully farmers like us!"

Midia frowned at him in disappointment. "I expected better of you from that, Addison. He's so harmless."

Addison rolled his eyes. "He's only going to get bigger, you know."

"Right, but we'll raise him to be a decent Beast, like he were one of our own."

Addison scoffed at that, glaring at the wolf babe, and then back at Midia. "You're not going to turn the cart around, are you?"

Midia simply shook her head.

Addison sighed. "All right, fine. I do suppose we'll need another help hand on the field anyway. All right, then. I'll go get him."

That was when Midia tugged at his cloak. "I think I'd better get him. You just look after the cart."

Addison smirked. "Clever girl. Right, then. Off you go."

Midia hopped off the cart, kneeling down to pick up the wolf babe. Oh, he was so heavy. "Oh, you're so precious." She said ticking his chest.

The pup giggled adorably at the mouse that was playing with him.

Picking up all the clothes and deserted belongings around the babe, she got back up in the cart. Addison took them and placed them back in the cart. Giving a good crack, the cart began making its way back to the hamlet. Midia held onto the broken sword, reading the name on the hilt.

"I suppose you don't have a name for the little babe, do you?" Addison asked.

Midia then gave a tender smile. "I think we'll call him Timothy. It's a nice name don't you think?"

Addison shrugged. "I suppose. He'll have to share beds with one of the children."

"We'll make it work." Midia said. "My precious little Timothy."

Slowly, Stephen found himself coming to. He stirred in his bed, but snapped awake when he found that something tugged against his wrist. Rolling onto his stomach, he realized that his hands were tied behind his back. Matt, Mark and George were looking down at him from all ends of the bed. There were looks of concern, and some with unease.

Stephen grunted between trying to break free. "What's going on here? Why am I tied up like this? Get me out of these fucking cuffs!"

"Those are just to keep you from hurting anyone." Mark rolled his shoulder. "I know you said to stay out of your room, but your reaction goes beyond that. What's going on?"

Stephen inhaled sharply. "Speak for yourselves. You're the ones who opened that book."

"We never opened the book. It was lying on the floor when we found it."

"He's telling the truth," Matt said in a forced, calm tone. "Timothy went in all on his own. He probably got lost trying to find the bathroom, and found your book."

"But past that, we haven't seen him. It's like he just vanished into thin air." George was leaning against the door, still sounding a bit worried.

Mark looked at Steve, glare softening as he sat down on the floor beside the bed. "Please, Steve, tell us what's going on. We're your friends; if something's happened, we can help, but you have to let us."

Steve eyes wandered, thinking about it. "I don't know who to trust," he admitted.

"I can't tell you who to trust, but...we're your friends. I wouldn't lie about Tim vanishing unless he did."

"You don't know the half of it." Stephen said. "There's more going on right now than what you three found out. Tens, even hundreds, of thousands of lives hang on the balance now that someone else has linked to that Age."

"I'm sorry, but when did we get transported into a game of _Myst_?"

"Age?" Matt said, confusedly. He held up the book pointing at the cover. "Maybe you can explain to me the meaning of this cover. This is an accurate portrayal from the Redwall books. It's Cluny the Scourge's forces assaulting the abbey as the woodlanders attempt to hold it off. Was this specially commissioned by someone?"

"Age? I don't understand what you mean, Steve. This isn't a game, right?"

"This is not a game." Stephen said slowly, trying to keep his calm. "But I'm glad at least two are familiar with _Myst_ and Redwall. The D'ni Civilization, the Linking Books, the Myst Island-all of it is real. I know this because I was able to do what no human being was able to accomplish."

"D'ni?" Matt asked. "What are you talking about? I've never played Myst or Riven or any of the games."

"So, the Redwall series isn't fictional? Kinda hard to believe, isn't it?" George's eyes went a little wide, but he didn't move.

Mark was starting to connect the dots. "...That book is a Linking Book, isn't it?"

"Yes." Stephen hissed, unable to get out the word easily. "There was a website that gave tips on how to write Linking Books in D'ni. When I learned about this, I thought I could just make a novelty Linking Book for fun...until I found out it worked. So I took it to a more ambitious level, and wrote one to link to an Age the resembles the world Brian Jacques conjured."

"Linked? What's a linking book?" Matt asked indirectly.

"And it worked, I'm guessing. You seemed pissed when we got in here...and this explains why."

"Wait, wait a minute!" Mark said loudly. "If Timothy found that book... and opened it... that means-"

"Don't tell me he got sucked in... and thaaat explains why he vanished." It was starting to sink in for George too.

"Yes." Stephen grunted, struggling with his cuffs. "Like Atrus and his grandfather, I bear the sins of the D'ni. I've kept the book secret this entire time, ensuring that it wouldn't fall into the wrong hands. Now, Timothy's found it and he's in great danger."

"What's a linking book?" Matt asked again.

"What kind of danger are we talking about? Rampaging rats or foxes? And it's been years since I touched Myst...but those books teleport you to another time...another place, I think."

"The Linking Books acted as portals to the worlds held within their pages," Mark explained, looking at the book with reverent awe. "They're like gates at either end of a two-way street... that's assuming these work like the ones in the game."

"It was something like that," Stephen acknowledged quietly. "This was why I disappeared off the map for a long while. There are tens, even hundreds, of thousands of people in that Age who have lives of their own, and if the wrong person were to link to that Age, I will have killed off an entire civilization for letting them in. I'm sorry...I wanted to tell you all. I wanted to share it with all my friends, but I didn't know how I could trust anyone or be laughed at."

George nodded and moved away from the door. He still wasn't sure Stephen's mind was all there, but nothing he said seemed unreasonable, given that their friend seemed to have vanished into thin air. "I can...kinda understand why. But what do we do now?"

"The only thing we can do." Stephen said. "We're going in there to get him out before he can do any damage."

"Are there any risks we should be aware of? Aside from accidentally committing genocide."

"I'll explain further after you do something for me."

"Affirmative. What's that?" Matt asked.

"Cut me out of these plastic cuffs!"

After having freed himself, Steve told them all to pack up and be prepared for what was going to be a long trip. Each of them brought a pack of things they'd take with them into the world, Matt especially being the most prepared. Meeting back in about two hours, they found Steve writing on his desk back in his room. He turned back sharply, and then sighed with relief. "Thank god, it's just you. Come here, all of you."

"Alright... I just hope this is enough stuff." George had plenty of camping supplies and a knife he'd gotten from his grandfather before he'd passed away.

"Oh, yes. Lock the door behind you and close the blinds. Can't be too careful now."

Mark shut and latched the door as he came through. "Okay, man, what's next?" he asked, shouldering his backpack full of supplies.

As Matt shut the blinds, Stephen hastily continued writing. Without looking up, he then said. "There's a great amount of history you ought to know...but...I'm afraid I must continue on with my writing right now. I need someone to appoint as a leader."

Matt then raised his hand. "I'll take it. What do you want me to do?"

"Was going to say, why not Matt? He is in the military and all that..."

Pulling open a drawer on the desk, he looked away from the linking book and handed it over to him. "First, take this. Most of what you'll all need to know is in there. Guard it with your life."

Matt put it inside his military backpack. "What else?"

Wrath then stood up, opening a drawer at the near bottom, revealing a book. Inspecting the writing carefully, he then said quietly. "For reasons you'll soon come to find, I can't link any of you to Redwall with a way out. But I can give you this. It may look like a linking book back here to the apartment. Really, though, it's a one-man prison."

"In other words: don't open it."

He then handed it to Matt. "You may just need it, I'm afraid, to re-capture Crom."

"The god from Conan the Barbarian?"

"There's no time to explain right now." Stephen paused and then shrugged it off, finishing a few more sentences on the Linking Book. "Should you find Timothy, stay at Redwall Abbey and I'll return with a Linking Book to send us home. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Affirmative." Matt nodded.

"Crystal clear."

Mark paused. "Wait... Suppose we get separated from Matt. How do we find our way to Redwall Abbey when we find Tim? I mean, is there someone in the Age who can help us?"

Stephen pondered this and said. "The Wanderer will know what to do."

"Who?"

"He's someone I know very closely on Redwall, one you would say I could call a brother. There's actually a song that was written in his name by the abbey." Stephen pondered for a moment and then said aloud:

_Time gnaws away all things_

_Buildings, mountains, even kings_

_But there is one old and clever_

_The trees of Mossflower, his name it sings._

_"No one lives forever!"_

_The ageless Wanderer, old as the sea_

_Old as the mountains. Nay! Older than He!_

_What is his name, he who will never_

_Die? Ask the river, and they shall tell thee_

_"No one lives forever!"_

_Riddles?_ Mark thought, putting a hand to his chin as he mulled over the enigmatic tune. "...So, we're looking for a fellow who calls himself 'No one', eh? Cryptic." He grinned. "Sorry, I'm really good with riddles."

"Ah, well it wasn't exactly the trickiest of all riddles. Anyway, if you should be in trouble, mention his name and the woodlanders will usually aid you in what way they can."

Just then, Wrath lifted the book up, nodding with a thin, satisfied smile. "There's a good chance that if all goes according to plan," he said, lifting up the Linking Book before all three of them, "I may be able to reward you for your help."

George shifted his weight for a moment - things rarely went to plan, but there was no reason not to hope they would. "Getting Tim back's enough for me."

As they all looked, they saw a swirling blur of indistinct pictures moving through a tiny window. It compelled them all to touch it. Matt went first. Touching the picture with his hand, he was enveloped in a pale glow as he disappeared out of sight.

Mark took a deep breath, and following Matt's lead, he reached out and touched the image tentatively. In a flash, he, too, was gone.

"Here goes...see you on the flip side, Steve." George was the next to touch the book, and was in a flash, gone.

Stephen, seeing that all of them left, took out a new ballpoint pen and continued to write on the paper the next set of characters.

When his head stopped spinning, Mark realized he was no longer in Steve's room. He was no longer in Steve's apartment, either; looking around at an unfamiliar marsh, he realized he had no idea where that book had linked him to.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up a few smells he recognized from his wilderness hikes. The pungent smell of the wetlands was predominant, but he could also smell... the ocean? He blinked. "Okay, I guess that narrows it down."

Another quick look around revealed that Steve, Matt and George were nowhere in sight. Mark sighed, picked a direction he guessed was north, and started trudging off to find... something. As he walked, he became more and more aware of the weight of the pack on his shoulders; he scratched an itch on his chest, only to freeze in his tracks when he noticed what was causing the itch.

A tuft of cream-colored fur was visible under a shirt that was swiftly growing too large for its wearer. Mark tumbled backwards, half because of his bag pulling him down and half because his pants had fallen into the muck. Landing with a *splat*, he watched as his torso stretched, face stretching into a short, must lid muzzle; a short tail snaked its way out of his spine as the fur continued to march across his body, arms and legs reconfiguring themselves for easier access to both bipedal and quadrapedal movement.

A few moments later, the panicked stoat crawled off his bag and looked himself over. He sighed, and started dragging the pack up out of the muck; pulling a towel from the bag and wrapping himself up, he sat down to wait for someone to come along and help him make some sense out of all this.

When the flash of light had subsided, George found himself still inside, but from the feel of the stones his hand found, it wasn't Steven's house. Light drifted in through a slit window, but he didn't look outside just yet. He was still shocked he was really in.. Wherever he was. A castle, going by the look of it. Torches lit the walls, and he could see a few tapestries, but no guards of any kind. Probably a good thing, given his sudden entrance.

But as he moved to try and find someone, he soon became aware of an itch on his backside, and a pressure there too. With a wordless gasp of surprise, he lowered his pants just enough to free a bushy tail, orange, white and black fur covering it. The fur spread across his body, white on the chest with orange on the back. George would rapidly remove his backpack as his face pushed out into a vulpine muzzle, ears elongating and teeth sharpening.

Pads grew on his clawed hands as his legs and feet also furred over, claws poking out through his shoes. And soon after, it was over - he stood there an anthropomorphic fox - perhaps in better shape than he was before, but not by much. He patted himself down in shock - this was real...but he still didn't know where he was. Gathering his supplies, he went off in search of someone.

That was when he could hear footsteps coming his way. Appearing out from the corner in front of him was what appeared to be a large rat geared in tattered mail armor. A full helm covered his head, and gripped in his gloves was a halberd that looked quite fearsome. He bore a tabard over his chainmail, bearing the coat of arms of some clan he didn't know. As they looked at each other, he then shouted. "Oi! Come quick! We've got us an intruder!" The rat then pointed the halberd at George he snarled ferociously as he could. "Now, don't try nothin', you 'ear? I don't wanna hurt you or nothin', but I'll run you through real deadly-like now, right?"

"Erk...yeah. I understand...won't try anything stupid. Or anything at all... Where am I anyhow...? We don't have places like this in use where I'm from..."

"Don't you start none o' that! I'm askin' the questions." Just then several other rats came out, surrounding the fox. Resisting, at this point, seemed futile. "Right. You'll be comin' down wit' us."

"Alright! Alright! I was going to go with you in the first place. You don't need this many troops." George was trying not to panic at this point, and it showed. One wrong move and he'd be dead meat.

"Right, then. Off we go. The High King's waitin' for us."

A sensation like an electric shock suddenly surged into Matt's body, like he'd just stuck his tongue to a battery or he'd had his hand clasped against a buzzer. It was actually more numbing than painful, of course. He witnessed a flash of light and then instant darkness. But then he felt life in him again, having himself gasp for air as he felt his body reassemble. He realized it was still dark. He could not see!

But then he felt his senses returning to him. The blackness in his eyes brightened to a great light as the sound of the sea became clear in his growing acute hearing. Soon his vision returned, and Matt found himself standing upon a beach, his soaked shoes sunken into the sand.

He looked around and blinked. It was mostly empty sand for as far as the eyes could see; turning to look behind him, Matt saw a lush forest, hidden by a small ridge of sand that had dune grass growing on it. It looked amazing, almost otherworldly. He then noticed a conical mountain to his left, rising up in the distance.

He was just awestruck by the beauty of the land, and he almost smiled before realizing that he should check if he was really all there. First, he checked to make sure his revolver and knife were still present. They were. He felt something, something he couldn't place it at the moment.

Everything was beautiful, but knowing the world he was now in, the beach might not be so peaceful. "Searats could be around," he reminded himself.

The words having popped into his head startled Matt. Though the scenery felt like something out of a fantasy. He knew for a fact that the world he was looking at was none other than the World of Redwall.

Everything that Steve had said about this place was true and more. It was far more beautiful than he imagined. Yet something did not feel right. The scaling felt wrong. To be fair, there was always an issue throughout the series involving scale. The mountain was the right size, and so were the Trees, yet still it felt wrong. Why? Was it simply himself? Was he himself a giant in this world? How could that be? This had to be the Redwall Age. He had to be the right size. Why was that not so, then?

Matt blinked as he felt something drop in my stomach; he didn't know what, but something felt really wrong. He pondered that as he absentmindedly began to scratch his arm as it itched under his shirt.

The itching became like an unshaven beard that was irritated under the skin. To Matthew's unnoticed attention, the hairs on his arms had dramatically thickened and the nails on his hands pushing out into strong, predatory claws, the webbing on his hand lengthening and becoming more rubbery, ideal for swimming.

He seemed to go into an almost daze about fish, remembering how he drove his roommates nuts by eating tuna and salmon from the can and...

Matt shook his head in confusion; as he tried to focus, he felt his eardrums pop, as though he were on an airplane flight. He stuck a finger in one ear to clear it, yelping in surprise when a claw poked his eardrum.

"What?" he exclaimed, his voice changing as his face pushed out into a short muzzle. He quickly looked to see if his bandana was still tied to his arm... and why didn't his shirt seem to fit right?

Matt's shirt was indeed a looser fit, though he had not lost any height; his torso was not as wide as it had been a few minutes prior. He looked at the bandana and the weapons he had when he felt something at the base of his tailbone as his nose and skin around it itched. "Great, whiskers," he muttered, slowly figuring out what was happening.

He checked his revolver and knife, only to stare in shock. Where his revolver been, there sat an odd-looking crossbow-like machine, six bolts already loaded and waiting to be fired; his knife had grown into what seemed to be a broadsword, the sheath becoming a scabbard as he drew the weapon. The only thing that remained from the sword's original form was the letters 'USMC' engraved into the blade.

The whiskers on Matt's muzzle began to thicken as he felt his tail pop out and stretch, lashing out as his tailrudder developed, making him much more ideal for swimming. His legs took on a squat position as his hindpaws changed to match his hands, the fur continuing to thicken on him.

He blinked, twisting to get a good look at himself. "Great... What do I wear now?" He asked himself.

Taking his repeating crossbow and new broadsword, Matt tightened the bandana around his arm; it was the only clothing he had, so he went with it calmly.

Trekking down the beach, Matt eventually stumbled upon the wrecked remains of an old sailing ship; after a few minutes with the ship's sails and his new sword, he'd fashioned a cloak and tabard to cover himself, a length of rope worked into a makeshift belt.

With his new outfit, he began to move when he smelled the scent of a fire on the breeze. And… was that a faint scream? Without thinking, he dropped to his belly and crawled to the closest dune ridge, peering over to see what was going on.

There were several life boats weighted down on the rippling shores, tracks of searats leading up to a storehouse made of driftwood. It had been set ablaze, the smoke touching the sky. Several bodies lay strewn about, the blood all washed up from the waters. The searats were going back and forth, pillaging and burning as they went along, laughing madly as they raided the storehouse. Yet there was still a cry being heard. But from where?

Matt didn't know where it was, but slowly raising the six-bolt crossbow and decided to take advantage of the element of surprise and take out some of the raiders from his position. They didn't look that many and he felt he was a good shot with the crossbow.

He pulled the trigger, letting one bolt loose; rolling down the embankment and crawling across the sand in a way that he felt had been ingrained forever in his mind to another position, he popped up and let another bolt fly.

One rat was caught by surprise, the bolt burying itself within his neck. As he fell on the ground, choking for breath, the searat next to him raised his buckler and absorbed the shot of the next bolt.

Raising his crooked scimitar he let out a wild yell, alarming the other searats of his presence. Drawing their swords, they charged at the otter, outnumbering him five to one.

Still using the dune, Matt fired off bolt after bolt at the searats that were charging; he drew his sword, letting instincts and knowledge guide him as he engaged the first searat that neared, stabbing him in the gut and pulling out the blade to parry the attack of another rat. He was surrounded but he felt calm, making sure to try and not have any of them get behind him.

His bolts were able to take down another sea rat to the rear, but the rest were either dodged or deflected by the searats' shields. His sword made quick work, slicing through their blades and chopping off their limbs. It was a bloody fight, many of the rats falling to the ground and bleeding to death. One last rat, having seen his comrades fall, dropped his sword and ran for the lifeboats.

Matt quickly picked up a spear that one of the rats had dropped and lobbed it at the running rat, not wanting any more rats to come as reinforcements. He moved to the burning building, the cries growing more desperate then before.

The smoke looked thicker. "Not good!"

As the spear impaled the rat, he tumbled into the sea, his dead body being washed away into the ocean beyond. Turning his attention away, Matt charged into the burning storehouse, easily breaking the door down and relieved to see that the source of the wailing had not died out. Sitting in the corner, covered in a cloth, seemed to be the sound of a young Dibbun, wailing away at the sound and sights of the store burning.

Without even a thought, he moved to scoop up the Dibbun and carried him out of the building as he heard the roof began to creak and buckle from the heat of the fire. Running out into the sand, he began to wipe the soot off the young Dibbun as he moved to where he had stabbed his sword into the sand.

Bar the soot, the Dibbun seemed perfectly all right, but he was wailing away. Thank the stars! How lucky this one was, having had the whole storehouse nearly crush him. But what was Matt to do now with this screaming babe?

In truth, he didn't know what to do, but he decided to bounce the Dibbun on my knee, trying to calm the child down. He made a quick sweep of the area, grabbing some food bags from the dead searats; he worried that the images would affect the Dibbun, but as he recalled, Dibbuns were rather hearty characters.

To his relief, the Dibbun's hollering eventually stopped, reduced to sniffles as he stared at the strange otter bouncing him on his knee. When he fished out the vermin's stash, he found a bit of bread. Slightly stale but still good.

He quickly broke it apart and gave a piece to the Dibbun. "Here," he said softly, "suck on this to soften it up and eat it. It's good for you." With a smile, he moved to pick up his sword. "I'll watch over you, young'un, don't you worry," he spoke under his breath, watching the Dibbun eat the bread as he began cleaning his sword.

21


End file.
